The Rose Wall, Part II

I completed building the rose wall last week, with the finished pictures below.

The roses I put in the bed were a little worse for wear, but they've bounced back somewhat even in this short amount of time --- the one that looked almost dead is now sprouting three small leaves. It should have adequate growing time left to establish some roots and be able to overwinter. This bed design also makes it pretty easy to fill in around the roses with some fallen leaves for insulation. Filled the plant bed up with some nice topsoil and (according to the rose planting instructions) 50/50 mix of topsoil and potting soil around the roots. Scratched in some rose fertilizer the next day, then put on about 3 inches of brown landscaping mulch to help keep the soil from drying out.

Very pleased with this project. Altogether, it took about 50-55 hours of labor. Well, that's not including the time spent picking and loading two trailer-loads of stone from property across town. Hard going, that, prying each stone up from the soil that is reluctant to loosen its grasp. But it was a little easier using a large garden cart that was outfitted with old bicycle tires. So at least I didn't have to walk every stone down to the road. I've taken a lot of stone out of that place, and just when you think that there can't be much more usable stone left --- stone that has the flat, slightly angular faces needed for a nice-looking wall, you find an untapped section that's loaded with them.

Have an interior wall lining coming up that I've already done some prep work on and need to get finished before the season ends and wood stove heating season begins.

The Rose Wall, or 'It's Turtles All the Way Down!'

Started this a few weeks ago and it's been an off-and-on project when I've had some time between others.

As usual, I've used what was there from deconstruction (the old wall was haphazardly thrown together quite a long time ago out of available rocks and was starting to falling apart) along with bringing in a supplement of nicer-faced stone. The first decision was to step it out from being just a flat retaining wall, because of several monstrous "turtles" at ground level that are nearly impossible to build on sturdily. These are so termed because of their turtle-shelled shapes. Nothing can lay flat on top of them, without some serious back, front, and side wedging that is subject to failure when going up against frost heaves and force majeure. Better to come up with a design that avoids those turtles altogether. With consideration to how much stone/time it would take, and the fact that there were some unplanted roses in the yard --- white and red... how very Hundred Years War --- an idea to create some steps up to the higher bank merged into a raised flowerbed design, and a stone seating area. Just to note that I also offered the idea of creating a small water feature, which actually wouldn't cost too much, but with a lake about 20 feet away, this wasn't favored. It's all about choice, and giving options.

I have broken the rules of dry stone wall construction on this one, I will admit. On any given site, there are things one just has to work around, notably here are the two rocks on the left side. On top of the largest stone whose top is turtle-ish (but which couldn't very well be mitigated), I used some Liquid Nails exterior adhesive the other day. So, this is not a completely "dry" wall. The stone was solid as set and will be tied down by large stone on top of it, but I felt much more comfortable with a little extra insurance, that will last, per the copy on the adhesive tube "for the life of your project."

It's coming along pretty well, and I've had a few days of having "the hot hand," which is always a good feeling.

14 August 2010

We were in the Christmas Tree Shops the other day stocking up on some Voortman cookies (this seems to be the only place that carries the brand for our favorite windmill cookies) and not 10 feet into the store, the rear cart wheel bumped into something. I looked down to see a small black pouch that looked like a change purse. Didn't look in it, but it turned out to be a minimalist purse. At check-out a few minutes later, the cashier next to us said he was waiting for a lady who forgot her wallet in her car. Well, what 're the odds? As she walked back in the store I directed her over to the service desk where we'd left it. The woman started thanking us profusely and said that her heart was still beating out of control.

I've been in the same boat. A pair of green khakis I wore back at the U had a back pocket that things slipped out of easily enough.... One day after leaving the campus library, come to find out that the usual bump in the seat wasn't there. Panic. Looked around me on the bus. Tried to backtrack, which included a long walk between buildings. Finally got back to the library to one of my usual seats and there it was, untouched. (I did change my PIN number on bank cards, etc. that day just to be safe.)

Still remember that wallet --- very worn brown leather bi-fold featuring a faint hunting dog stamp pattern, with black stitch lacing along the perimeters. It finally fell apart about a year after I graduated. It was old when I started using it after finding it in a drawer as a teen and I got about ten years out of it. Its replacement still doesn't have 1 percent the character that old wallet had.

28 July 2010

Reported for jury duty this morning, which was a new experience in the thrilling brand of the American court system. It consisted of 6 hours sitting on my bum on a hard oak pew, watching other business-casual-clad citizens answer questions like where they and their spouses work, whether they can be impartial, etc. And in the end, I never had to say a word and literally have nothing to show for those 6 hours, not even the proverbial "I spent 6 hours waiting in jury duty and all I got was this lousy T-shirt" T-shirt. We got some loose parameters of the civil case being tried, none of which I will be going into here or elsewhere, per instructions. Will see whether I get re-called for another case at a later date.

This episode put a bit of a crunch on an upcoming project, as I didn't know whether I would be available on such-and-such dates. But that's how it goes in the functioning of the 6th and 7th amendments. In a world where some governments don't hesitate to presume guilt, lop off body parts or simply let injustice reign free... if a loss of 6 hours (with meager compensation) is my worst problem I have no cause for complaint.

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Canned and processed some of our garden cucumbers a couple of weeks ago, and today tried some of the non-water bath fridge batch for the first time. Not too bad. A slightly strong garlic taste, but they are undoubtedly dill pickles. Tried several different slicing methods in the batch --- chips, spears and so-called "sandwich stacker" cuts. We have more pickles now than we'll likely use in the next year (which is the shelf life for these). Really getting a handle on preserving. Might try some of the green beans next. Then again, I might not... we might just eat them all fresh.

"My Repair"

I was really pleased when I first heard this song, a duet of The Noises and Brandi Carlile, last year. It might be better than any of the collaborations from her most recent album. Brandi's oft-dominating voice combines with Jason Scavone's in a great harmony. It is a little muted here --- played in a live venue --- compared to the studio recording and there are a couple of misplaced pauses or too-drawn-out notes, but it is nonetheless a nice performance. It also helps that it's a great little tune in a lyrical sense, with a catchy, short rhyming scheme.

Hot and Bothered

The thermometer has been in the high-80 / low-90 degree range for the past few days here, with accompanying dew points in the 70s (read: oppressive humidity). Too much of this type of weather has a tendency to wear on my nerves, and doubtless this is true for many people.

But, last night giving the ol' middle finger to the weather, I took Ruff on about a half-mile walk-run-walk and then put some rib eyes and squash on the grill. 'Course, the grilling was full of caveats --- Step C needed to be done before Step B, and Step A couldn't be done until after Step C, and Step D.... This kind of situation is tolerable to me, regularly, but the closeness of the air has a way of bringing down the boiling point, so to speak. But here we are, I got through it. Ruff got some water, panted for a while, and had a nap on the cold basement floor. I took a cool shower, we have the air conditioner on, and all is well, until I go outside again.

Ruff is 6 months old today. Still being debated whether he'll get the big snip at the vet. I really it would be best, but the other point is whether we could use him for breeding. Having helped raise three litters of GSPs during my late teen years, I can honestly say that I am not in any hurry to do that again. With a male, though, that isn't the consideration. My argument is that breeders typically don't go outside of their own circle in selecting pairings and they use dogs that are well tested, so it's probably a moot point anyway. To be sure, one doesn't go into breeding to make money --- it's nearly even-steven money-wise, and then factor in the opportunity cost of the many hours of effort. But to avoid any potential accidents in this area of puppy-making, I think it best to have Ruff neutered. The running wisdom also adds that neutering helps to calm dogs a bit, which, given the last few weeks' behavior (chewing things that aren't his to chew, including two electrical cords (they were unplugged)), is desirable.

Cutting Hair in the Kitchen

By James Dufresne

The buzzing of the electric clippers
makes me think of my first-generation Dutch
grandmother (we called her Beppa)
cutting the hair of my cousins in the kitchen
at the farm in Western New York.

Far removed from those days. Cousins
now estranged through family feuds,
busy with jobs or school, and
now tending what remains through the ether.
I take out heavy mirrors and try to get my bearings;

In the reflection, left is right, up is down.  I can hear
the thick accent say, "Yimmy! Your turn, Yimmy!"
and the saving graces of my father, who stubbornly
explained to this equally stubborn, weighty queen bee
that our hair was cut back in Connecticut.

The times of the home haircut have returned ---
no need to spend $20 for a man's crew. A few up-swipes
with a No. 2, topped with a No. 6. A touch of the
infamous Dutch thrift carries on in me. And
don't cut hair over carpet. That is what I learned there.